She pressed her lips together and touched her fingers to the shallow divot at the base of her throat. He was instantly jealous of those fingers. “I meant,” she said, her voice breathy, “we had met a moment before, when…” She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes.
“When I nearly flattened you?”
She let out a giggle, a sound so sweet and delicious he wanted to hear it again, immediately and as often as possible. “It wouldn’t take much, I’m a bit…wobbly.”
“Wobbly?”
Another giggle, and this time when she met his eyes she did not look away. “My mother says clumsy, my father says awkward. I prefer wobbly.”
“I have wobbly moments myself.” Alex summoned his courage. “Are you planning to dance tonight?”
She hesitated, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. “I am not particularly fond of the ballroom.” She sounded a trifle embarrassed. “I’m not much of a dancer. You know, the wobbling.”
He leaned in and mock-whispered, “Neither am I, but the dance floor is so crowded I doubt anyone will notice. Shall we have a go at it?”
She blinked and worried her lower lip before giving him a little nod. She put her hand in his, pausing a beat before allowing her palm to settle completely into his. His heart soared as he led her into the ballroom as a waltz began. Alex found himself pulling her close, much closer than was appropriate, to accommodate the crush of dancers, a protective surge building in his chest.
Miss Rose had been correct, she was a terrible dancer. She resisted his lead at first but after a few measures of music, she relaxed into his hand, allowing him to move her across the dance floor. Alex was awkward at best, bumping against her feet more than once before losing himself to the music, the feel of her in his arms.
Alex gazed at her with wonder. She did not act like what he assumed of an aristocratic heiress, one who was, according to Henry, one of the most desirable ladies in England. Her eyes were never still, darting between his and her surroundings, each movement hesitant, as though she was uncertain of her place in the world.
Alex understood that feeling all too well. “Miss Rose,” he said, leaning forward so only she could hear his words, “you’re doing wonderfully. Not wobbly at all.”
Her spine relaxed beneath his hand as a slow smile spread across her lips. “You’re not wobbling a bit either.”
On the contrary, he might collapse at any moment at the sheer joy of being so close to her. She was beautiful. She had to know every man in the room wanted her, but she watched him as though Alex were the only person in the universe.The belle of the ball, Miss Rose Waverly. Everyone wants her, and she’s in my arms.
As they turned with the dance, he noticed Miss Rose’s fingers moving against his hand, tapping rhythmically on his knuckles. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She met his gaze with wide eyes. He would get lost in those eyes if she kept looking at him like that. “Yes? Why do you ask?”
“You’re tapping your fingers.”
Even in the darkened room, he could tell her face flushed as she dropped her gaze. “I do that sometimes,” she said, her tone cautious, as though she feared his judgment, “when I’m nervous. I know this song and can play it on the piano, so sometimes I play to calm myself down.”
He stroked his thumb across her palm and pulled her slightly closer to him. “You do not need to be nervous with me, I assure you. I am no one of consequence.”
“Oh,” she said, furrowing her delicate brows. “I strongly disagree.”
Pride, unexpected and warm, rushed through him, and he felt like a king. He may not have the wealth, or the title, or the connection, but only Alex Carroway, a printer’s son from Birmingham, had Miss Rose Waverly defending him. He would be hard-pressed to let her go at the end of the night. “If the ballroom is not your favorite room, I take it the music room is?”
“It would be, but my mother has a tendency to work on her embroidery there, and apparently my playing distracts her,” she replied, a mischievous smile on her pink lips.
“How so?”
“Have you heard of Mussorgsky?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.
“Pictures at an Exhibition, correct?”
She beamed at his recognition. “Right!” she gushed. “The Hut on Fowl’s Legsis simply extraordinary, with a dynamic range that boggles the mind!”
She had stopped dancing, her hands fluttering as she described the music as though she wanted him to experience it the way she did. She was entrancing, unlike any woman he had ever met…
Rose stopped suddenly, a flush rising on her neck as she bit her lip, returning into his arms to continue the waltz. “Well, as you can see, my concept of soothing music is not in line with my mother’s.”
The dance ended, and the pair joined the flood of people moving off the dance floor. “Then what is your favorite room?” he asked as they walked into the corridor alongside the ballroom. He needed to know more about her, to learn everything he could about this wondrous woman.
“I’ll have to show you, but—” She gulped in a lungful of air, as though bracing herself. “I prefer spending my time reading rather than learning to dance.”
